


Demon Soup

by quantumfailure



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), M/M, demon!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumfailure/pseuds/quantumfailure
Summary: Based off a writing prompt.Stiles’ panicked train of thought is brought to a halt when the thing speaks, no roars “how? How were you able to summon me?!” with his monster eyes flashing red and Stiles’ mind is now blank as the only explanation could be the soup, so he dives for the recipe book and flips through it, searching frantically with his admittedly very basic understanding of Polish for any kind of explanation because it’s not like this is a DIY occult summonings book, it’s got a picture of a friggen Martha Stewart looking little lady on the back! “I don’t know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup! What even are you? Are you going to kill me?” Stiles screeches.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 28
Kudos: 148





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first stab at writing in many many years so I'm bound to be very out of practice. Feedback is appreciated! Tags will be updated as I write more :)

Stiles’ life _sucked._ He was turning 18 in less than 3 hours, his best and only friend was too busy morphing into one with his new girlfriend to remember to make time for him today, and his dad had a “double shift at the station tonight” he’d said with a pained expression, promising to make it up to him tomorrow evening. He was a _senior_! This was supposed to be the time of his life! Underage drinking, parties, and inexperienced groping! Not lying in bed in his room, staring at the ceiling and bemoaning his existence. Restlessness overcame him and he flipped over and groaned into his pillow before rolling out of bed and deciding to do something a little more productive.

Amber eyes roamed around his room, seeking something to take his mind off of the failure of his life up until this point before finally settling on his _babcia’s_ old cookbook. Amber gleamed as he made up his mind and decided to do _something_ , _anything at all_ to accompany the start of another _terrible_ new year of his life. His _babcia_ had been a hardass of an old woman, and nobody brought more fear or love into Stiles’ heart than her. “ _Myszko_ ,” she would say sweetly, “did you get into the cookie batter again?” before reigning terror only a sixty-something Polish woman below five foot could achieve. God, he missed her. He was always her little mouse, even when her eyes started to cloud over and her shaking hands couldn’t grab his ear to scold him like she used to.

Suddenly feeling like a small child again, he shook off those thoughts and extricated the book from a haphazard pile. It was one of many occupying space all around Stiles’ room, with no rhyme or reason to the chaos that managed to clutter every surface except the floor itself. The book was in Polish, but he’d long ago placed little stickynotes on the important recipes so that he had at least a _vague_ understanding of what he was looking at. He closed his eyes and flicked through the book blindly before stopping on a random page in the book. “Chicken soup? I’m game.”

An impromptu drive to the supermarket later, and Stiles was squinting in front of the meat aisle, looking from the picture on his phone of the ingredients, back up to the assortment of cuts in front of him. “Turkey necks? Where the hell am I going to find turkey necks in a Save Mart?”. Stiles hadn’t touched the book since his _babcia_ had passed and hadn’t ever attempted to cook anything from the book except with her guidance as a boy. Going through the list was proving to be similarly frustrating, and gratuitous substitution was the result. _How the hell did that woman find half this stuff in the asscrack of California,_ Stiles wondered incredulously as he lined up to pay.

Back at home, Stiles _really tried_ to meticulously follow the instructions to the letter like his _babcia_ _always_ warned him to, he _really did_ , but he figured that since he’d been a little creative with the ingredients, it didn’t matter so much if he was similarly inventive in its execution. He even grabbed noodles to throw in at the end because he was a _visionary_! An absolutely unappreciated _artist_! Looking back now, he wonders if this was always destined to happen at some point, because Stiles is _terrible at following instructions_ and he was always going to pick up that book someday and try something out. Maybe not the _Rosół,_ but something _just as bad,_ if not _worse_.

Just as he’d added another spontaneous pinch of dill, the lights in the kitchen began to flicker and dim. The area around the pot got inexplicably _warmer_ , like a compounded sauna sitting in front of Stiles’ face. He instinctively turned the heat to low and looked around his kitchen. It wasn’t particularly huge, with red accents and a small granite topped island in the centre where his mom used to put flowers. The lights were rapidly becoming more erratic, and Stiles would’ve made a joke about a disco party after all if anyone had been with him and if he wasn’t so _freaked out_. A distant humming grew louder and louder, with an accompanying breeze growing more and more apocalyptical, and the cupboards instantaneously began to slam open and shut. “Holy mother of God, I can’t die a virgin!” Stiles squeaked, having moved to _beyond freaked out_ at this point, but found himself rooted in place due to fear or maybe even something more sinister. The sweat that had broken out on his face chilled him while his back sweltered from the ever-increasing heat of the bubbling pot behind him and he shook like a leaf. Every utensil, pot, and pan in the kitchen was rapidly being flung about in random disorder and the noise was close to deafening when suddenly, everything stopped.

Stiles didn’t know when he closed his eyes, but the abrupt drop in what he amounted to _the soundtrack to the gates of Hell opening up in his kitchen_ caused him to warily open them again, expecting it to have been a freak hallucination from God knows what and _oh great, I get to find out I’m crazy on my birthday_ except it’s not a hallucination as he comes face to face with a _seriously pissed off dude_ but the dude isn’t a dude at all because he has _wings_ and there’s _smoke coming off him_ and maybe it’s because he’s so _hot_ and _oh God he’s gonna get murdered by a sexy monster_ and-

Stiles’ panicked train of thought is brought to a halt when the thing speaks, no _roars_ “how? How were you able to summon me?!” with his monster eyes flashing _red_ and Stiles’ mind is now blank as the only explanation could be the soup, so he _dives for the recipe book_ and flips through it, searching frantically with his admittedly _very basic_ understanding of Polish for any kind of explanation because it’s not like this is a _DIY_ _occult summonings book_ , it’s got a picture of a friggen _Martha Stewart looking_ little lady on the back! “I don’t know!! _You were supposed to be chicken soup!_ What even are you? Are you going to kill me?” Stiles screeches.

The thing regards Stiles warily, taking note of his lanky gawking frame, and pale skin broken by smatterings of moles and freckles. A prominent layer of sweat coated the boy and his breathing was wild from the panic, matching his rapidly pulsing heart. _This idiot doesn’t even know what he did_ , he thought, and groaned internally.


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What? No ‘Abaddon the Destroyer’? Or ‘Legion of Gerasene’? Just… Derek. No, it’s cool, very intimidating, I bet children scream in terror when their parents tell them stories about the great demon Derek who swoops into their rooms at night to improperly file their tax returns.”

The thing doesn’t speak for a long while, with the only noise in the now wrecked kitchen being its heavy panting and a faint sizzling sound coming from behind Stiles. When he turns and sees the pot that once had the makings of a delicious meal was now _charred and smoking_ , Stiles rushes to uselessly turn the stove off.

“Did _you_ do that?” Stiles asks incredulously, gesturing wildly to the pot, and then around the room at the scattered objects and smashed ceramics. The thing sighed while simultaneously glaring at him, and the look was doing something funny to Stiles low in his belly. Stiles’ response to danger proves that he’s _defective_.

“ _I didn’t do anything_. You’re the one that summoned me.”

“I was making soup! What do you mean I summoned you? Actually- let’s address the big question first. What are you?”

If Stiles thought that the thing was glaring before, he was now practically _glowering_ , with his dark wings ruffled out behind him like an angry emo swan and his oddly rabbity-looking teeth bared in a sneer.

“I’m a demon.”

“Oh, okay, that makes sense except _this isn’t the Evil Dead_ and I _didn’t summon you_! God, am I dreaming? Did I knock myself out opening a cupboard? Am I passed out on the floor right now? Hey demon, how many fingers am I holding up?”

The demon seemed incredibly frustrated with the word vomit Stiles was producing in his panic and reached towards him to grasp him by his wrist.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, you wouldn’t kill someone on their birthday, would you?” Stiles exclaimed, backing up all of half a metre before he bumped into the stove and had nowhere left to go. The demon wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ wrist and noticed how dainty it was before closing his eyes and _pushing_. The memories didn’t come easily to him, and he was careful to only show the relevant _fire, brimstone, undying_ sort of thing people expect when they hear the word demon. Stiles eyes snapped open when it was over, pupils blown crazily and gasping greedily for air when he remembered how to breathe.

“ _Holy shit dude._ Or should I say unholy shit? You’re a demon! I thought demons would look a little more like Beelzebub and less like something out of a tween fantasy but I’m not complaining- unless you’re here to kill me that is, so please don’t kill me or I’ll have to go all out _Hellraiser_ on you.”

The demon considered the man, no, _boy,_ cowering in front of him with clear irritation. He barely looked legal, and yet he had the power to raise him from the pits of Hell _without_ _even_ _realising_. He was so _screwed_.

“Stop. Talking. Let me think.” He grunted, trying to determine the best way to call someone to help him get out of this _stupid_ situation. He was having no such luck, and even worse luck because Stiles merely decided to go back to questioning him.

“Do demons have names? Or are you more like background character number 3? Do you have a demon mom and demon dad at home? My name’s Stiles by the way.”

“What’s a Stiles?”

“Ha, never heard that one before. If I had a medal for demon comedian of the year you’d _definitely_ be in my top picks for the award. Seriously, if they have open mic nights down below you should try it out.”

Stiles paused and insisted, “you still haven’t told me your name.”

“Derek. My name is Derek.” He sounded pained to admit it, and he should be because _what kind of a demon name is Derek?_

“What? No ‘Abaddon the Destroyer’? Or ‘Legion of Gerasene’? Just… Derek. No, it’s cool, very intimidating, I bet children scream in terror when their parents tell them stories about _the great demon Derek_ who swoops into their rooms at night to _improperly file their tax returns_.”

Derek was reluctant to be admitting anything to this erratic mess of a human, but he confessed that he wasn’t a demon like they were. In Hell, there are rules and ranks and because he wouldn’t play ball like most other demons, he wasn’t gifted with the grand title or company car.

“What kind of rules are there in Hell? I would’ve thought it was pretty much a balls to the wall party for someone like you.”

“No, Hell is Hell for most of us, no matter who we are or where we rank.”

“So how did you end up there?”

“It. Doesn’t. Matter. What matters is that you’ve summoned me and _I can’t leave until you unbind me_.”

Derek had lost his patience with the 20 questions and decided to reveal his predicament, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe this idiot had the unbinding spell so that he could be on his way pretending that it was all just a bad dream.

“Sorry dude, fresh out of unbinding soup, I don’t think you’d be a fan since you nuked my last pot.”

“Then you’ll have to find someone who can!” Derek roared, and Stiles was already _so over the roaring_ , does he think he’s a lion? They’re less than 2 metres apart!

“Alright alright! Jeez, who woke up on the wrong side of the firepit this morning? Look, you’re gonna have to tell me how but I have like, school tomorrow, so we can’t go running after the exorcist until I finish or my dad’ll kill me.”

“Fine. Then we’ll go to your school tomorrow and then after that find the warlock.”

“ _Warlock_? Dude, are fairies real as well? Is _Santa?!”_

Stiles failed to acknowledge the plural normative _we_ in Derek’s plan.

Derek’s only response was the heaviest of sighs, glancing heavenward as if the Lord himself could look past his demonic ways and grant him some help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments!


	3. The Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not going to murder you in your sleep Stiles.” Stiles shivered at Derek saying his name, even if his tone was detectably mocking. He cleared his throat a little awkwardly at the reaction he had.

Sleeping with a demon isn’t really as scary as Stiles would’ve thought, and _no, not in that way_. After their brief discussion, Stiles decided that he needed to sign out of life for the rest of the day _at least_ and head to bed, only, Derek followed like an unwilling puppy being dragged by the collar to his death. If that puppy had ashy evil wings and freakin’ laser red eyes. And that puppy was 6 foot and worked out. Now _that_ was something you’d expect a demon to look like.

“Sooooo, do you sleep? Or are you gonna watch over me like some kinda psycho stalker? Because I’ve gotta say you’ll have to get in line buddy, I’ve got plenty of fans already waiting to get a glimpse of all _this_ -“ he gestured to himself in his ratty t-shirt and sweatpants, “and they don’t like giving free cuts.”

Derek sighed. If Stiles could harness the power of Derek’s ability to sigh, he’d be a very rich man. Maybe it was a demon power.

“I can sleep. It’s just not a necessity.”

“Not a necessity? Do you power off like a robot then? Get bored of being awake after a hard day in the office and just shut down?”

“ _No_.”

“…Oookay. You can have the floor then, I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.”

“It’s not necessary.”

Every time Derek spoke, it was like the words pained him, Stiles noticed.

“Cmon, even demons need a little TLC. Don’t worry, I’ll have you laid up like a king.”

Stiles strolled to the linen closet and grabbed the bedding supplies, forgetting that Derek was indeed still bound to him and had to follow, so was shocked when he turned around and almost collided with the very warm, very _solid_ chest of said demon.

“Oh, hey there stranger! Fancy seeing you here.”

“Stiles,” he hissed, “just. Go. To. Sleep.”

“Better men than you have tried and failed to get me to go to sleep, so nice try.”

Derek’s eyes flashed ominously, and his inky wings flared out to crowd around Stiles as a threat. He reached for the bedding and snatched it out of Stiles’ hands before he could protest, then turned to march back to his bedroom, counting on Stiles to follow so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself by walking into an invisible barrier. Maybe God pitied him, because Stiles was quick to get back to his room.

“So um, dude, I don’t know about you but I like to sleep a little more liberally than this. For your benefit I’ll keep the junk in the trunks, but if you murder me in my sleep my dad’ll be really disappointed to see that I still own spongebob boxers.”

“I’m not going to murder you in your sleep _Stiles_.” Stiles shivered at Derek saying his name, even if his tone was detectably mocking. He cleared his throat a little awkwardly at the reaction he had.

“…Well, alright then. Uh, goodnight Derek.”


	4. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anyway, do you eat food? Or do the souls of jazz musicians and politicians fuel you?”
> 
> “I eat, but I don’t think you have any spare newborns lying around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments you guys are leaving absolutely make my day, thank you so much everyone <3

Stiles slept _terribly_ in the snatches of sleep he did manage to grab. Most of his time was spent practically rolling around in bed trying to get comfortable, broken up with moments where he peered over the side of his bed like a child to confirm that _yep, the big ole feathered demon is still on my floor_. At first, Derek would meet his curious eyes with a glare but eventually even he managed to drift off into wherever it is that demons go when they rest. Stiles could have sworn he saw his _babcia_ in his dreams and woke up in a cold sweat from half-forgotten memories of being scolded for _anything and everything_ , as far as he was concerned.

As Stiles yawns and stretches in bed, he realises that Derek is awake and eyeing him with an unreadable expression. Derek quickly looks away in response and gets up to fold away the blanket.

“You don’t have to do that dude, I’ll handle it.”

“It’s _fine_.”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I’m starving. Didn’t exactly have a big dinner last night.” He looks at Derek pointedly.

“That wasn’t my fault. You were the one messing around with things you don’t understand.” Stiles will admit that he had a point, so wilfully ignored the statement.

“ _Anyway,_ do you eat food? Or do the souls of jazz musicians and politicians fuel you?”

“I eat, but I don’t think you have any spare newborns lying around.” Stiles' face paled, and he looked absolutely _horrified_.

“You _what??_ Newborns?? Are you _Satan himself?_ No, even worse, are you _Pennywise??_ Is that why you didn’t eat me in my sleep? I’m _too_ _old for you_?” Stiles shrieked.

He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw what appeared to be a _smirk_ on that bastard’s face.

“ _OH._ This guy’s got jokes? I get it. You’re getting the cardboard tasting _healthy cereal_ that my dad pretends to eat when he thinks I’m not paying enough attention to notice that we’ve had the same box for over a year. How’d you like that, huh?” Stiles spoke indignantly, and Derek just rolled his eyes in response. This was going to be a long day.

Stiles was shocked at how _normal_ Derek looked when eating breakfast. Ignoring the wings, he looked just like a regular guy. He couldn’t help but admire how broad his shoulders were or how chiselled his face appeared but hey, _he’s human_ , he dares the Pope to not take a second glance. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he closed his eyes while chewing, seemingly in a faraway place.

Stiles wisely chose not to say anything to disturb the tentative peace and instead focussed on the contours of Derek’s wings while he chewed. They were big enough to completely encase him if necessary and had a radiant sheen, with the tops covered in a fluffy down. He wondered what it would feel like under his fingers and had to stop himself from reaching out.

When they finished eating, Derek looked sheepishly around the kitchen at the mess of broken and displaced items as if seeing them for the first time and mumbled an apology so quietly that Stiles wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t already been hyper focussed on the demon.

“Don’t worry about it. Maybe you could clean up while I’m at school so my dad doesn’t have a heart attack when he comes home later.”

“Stiles, I can’t, remember? I have to go where you go.” Derek explained, looking a bit constipated.

“Yeah, but you can’t go to school with me! You’ll ruin my street cred!” Stiles replied disbelievingly, having forgotten that bit of information.

“Then you can’t go either.”

“I have to go!”

“Then I have to go with you.”

“Okay smart guy, how do you think people are gonna react when they see this unbelievably menacing yet fluffy dude stalking me? How are you gonna be able to walk into my chemistry without causing an active shooter alarm?”

“They won’t be able to see me.”

“Oh of course, they won’t be able to- what?”

“I can hide.”

Stiles couldn’t help but burst out laughing as he packed the dishwasher with both of their bowls and walked back to his bedroom, picturing Derek hiding under a desk and expecting everyone to just _ignore the 200 pound grown ass man sticking out_.

Derek scowled. “You’re the only one I can’t hide from, but I can turn invisible to everyone else.”

That stopped Stiles. Huh. This might be useful in the future for blackmailing purposes for a certain chemistry teacher.

“Well okay then. You could probably use some high school geometry in your life. I need to shower and change, gotta look my best for the big day.”

“I’ll wait outside the bathroom.”

Derek looked like he wanted to say more which gave Stiles pause.

“And, happy birthday Stiles.” Derek was looking anywhere but at Stiles and breathed the words out like he was hoping Stiles would ignore him. Stiles nodded in thanks and closed the bathroom door behind him, unable to control the grin that broke out on his face.


	5. The First Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles normally arrived fairly early compared to the average student driver to get free reign of the best spots and _not_ because he was a nerd, so the car park was deserted. He was reaching for the keys to turn off the ignition when a sharp “ _wait,_ ” caused him to pause with his hand just holding the key in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Snokoms for commenting on every chapter so far, you make me feel awesome!! Thank you all for the comments and kudos, I never expected to receive such lovely praise from everyone but you make me so happy to post :)

The drive is usually a quick one since Beacon Hills is such a small town; not quite an everyone-knows-everyone small, but more an everyone-knows-someone-who-knows-you place, and that would be doubly true for the infamous son of the Sheriff. It takes less than 10 minutes to reach BHHS, and the way Derek was frowning as he stared out the window with his wings awkwardly arranged around him made Stiles deflate a bit rather than burst with his usual chatty energy.

Stiles normally arrived fairly early compared to the average student driver to get free reign of the best spots and _not_ because he was a nerd, so the car park was deserted. He was reaching for the keys to turn off the ignition when a sharp “ _wait,_ ” caused him to pause with his hand just holding the key in place.

“What? What is it?”

Derek hushed him.

“There’s something out there.”

Stiles squinted in the direction Derek had been zeroed in on and all he could see was a pretty innocent looking bush. The parking lot was lined with them.

“Negatory on the visual, boss.”

“ _Just wait,”_ he snapped.

So Stiles retracted his hand and leaned forward, scanning the bushes. What’s so special about a bush? Maybe there’s a rabbit? Or a fox?

Stiles was about to ask if demons had a fear of small animals when one of the bushes moved like there was something _the size of a child_ rustling through.

“What is that?!” Stiles whisper-shrieked, alarmed.

“…It looks like a wood nymph to me.”

Stiles couldn’t see anything, but he could see that the area surrounding whatever the _thing_ was was moving around now.

“A wood nymph?”

“It’s a tree spirit.”

Stiles was only just getting over the _demons_ and the _warlocks_ , for God’s sake!

“Right. A tree spirit. Is there anything else from a fantasy novel that you feel like telling me is real before I _go insane?_ ”

Stiles never got a response because in that moment, the bushes looked like they’d ejected the huge dent in them to return to their original shape and Derek threw the car door open and _jumped_ outside.

Screaming a little bit inside, Stiles undid his seatbelt and scrambled to join Derek. A thick, viscous tension sat heavy in the air, almost oppressively so. The sounds of students arriving and of nature calling seemed far away and muffled. Everything was still.

“ _Get back in the car._ ” A growl this time. Stiles thinks that Derek is severely unsocialised to be communicating like an animal.

“I never thought I’d see the day that a prince of Hell walked on Earth,” a disembodied voice began. It was soft and high pitched, yet gravelly. It raised the hairs on Stiles’ arms and made his heart pound.

“Such a shame that it was only you, Derek.” The voice sighed, and it was silky and grating simultaneously. A glance at Derek would have shown his form growing larger and more frightening, with horns splitting his temples and the once-downy feathers sharpening into a more deadly accessory, but Stiles was still reeling from the ‘prince of Hell’ line and couldn’t help but gaze with unseeing eyes in the direction the voice was coming from. He thought Derek was some nobody down there, not a freaking _prince_.

“No matter, the boy is wasted on you. My sisters and I will be far more ambitious with our goals and will truly… _appreciate_ your talents.”

Derek moved swiftly to anchor himself in front of Stiles in a defensive stance, and Stiles was too shocked by Derek’s change of appearance to be indignant about being treated like a damsel in distress.

“You _will not_ harm him,” he snarled, teeth bared viciously.

The voice seemed taken aback by the threat, but eventually reacted with a tittering giggle that felt like a chilled breeze directly on Stiles’ eardrums. He cringed at the sensation. Why do the evil villains always have to have some kind of unbearable laugh?

“Now Derek, I approached you with words because I respect you; you can’t expect me to believe you’re _choosing_ to be tethered to this boy?”

“What I do is none of your concern. Leave, before I make you leave.” Derek’s wings were unfolded now and spanned the length of Stiles’ _car_. He couldn’t see where the wood nymph was even if it wasn’t invisible to him. The threat on Derek’s lip elicited a slight shudder in Stiles; he sounded even more menacing than when they’d first met in the kitchen. All Stiles could do was stare at the tightly wound muscles in Derek’s back and hope that he wasn’t going to get _murdered_ by a _tree ghost_. He stupidly noticed then that the wings on Derek’s back seemed to pass _through_ the shirt he was wearing; there were no rips to indicate a hole for the huge appendages.

The nymph considered his words, and finally replied with a sneer in its voice, “alright. If you’re too stupid to take my offer, then you can live attached to that pitiful human. You were always the most pathetic of your stock, you aren’t worth my time. Goodbye Derek.”

Stiles knew when the nymph had left, because Derek’s shoulders and wings finally dropped as the tension was released. The ambient noise of BHHS gradually came more into focus, and Stiles was grateful for the sound.

“So she was a total bitch.”

“Yeah. She was.”


End file.
